Regrets
by silverstreakednight
Summary: "What's your asking is impossible." Holmes snapped.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This is a one shot. Just a story I had from a while back but I never got around to posting. It was inspired by Sherlock Holmes from 2009. I had always pictured it as a longer story, but my writers block didn't let me get more on the page, so I'll settle for a very brief one shot. That being said, I hope to come back and add more descriptions in the future.

Hope you guys enjoy, thank you in advance!

* * *

"Oh Holmes... Oh Holmes..." Watson moaned as the man whose name he was whispering so feverishly continued to kiss and nibble along his neck.

It had been days since the Blackwood Incident.

"You scared me back there..." Watson managed, trying to regain control as his hands caressed his hair.

"I'm sorry," Holmes said, not sounding at all apologetic. If anything he'd swear it was annoyed that he was discussing this.

"You just couldn't let him go could you..." A whimper escaped his throat as Homes bit his neck viciously.

"You know I couldn't..." His hot breath blew against his neck, making the good doctor squirm. He always knew what buttons to push, just where to touch to make him ignore all his concerns.

"You don't play fair," Watson panted, melting into the kiss Holmes gave in response, making it impossible to stay mad, which with Sherlock became almost routine.

"Elementary dear Watson," he hissed in his ear. "Now I believe you have a patient you need to attend," he drawled, pulling him under the covers.

In the aftermath, Watson turned to Holmes. "Holmes... How long has it been?"

Holmes ignored the question, seeming to find the window much more fascinating as he appeared to write formulas in his head.

"Holmes, you promised we'd discuss this."

"Watson, I am not arguing."

"Neither am I. All I want…" He stammered, quieting himself at his thoughts turns dangerous.

"You are a clever man Watson, or so I've been led to believe. You know what you want is impossible..."

"What's impossible..."

"What you're thinking."

He hated how well he knew him.

* * *

One Sunday Afternoon found Watson entering the study with particular. "Holmes…." He ignored him. "Holmes, would you please leave Gladstone alone. This is important?"

Holmes huffed, syringe in one hand. "Oh do get on with it already Watson, unless you wish me to delay the antidote to this particular poison. You have five minutes."

Under other circumstances Watson would have argued, but as it was he was done arguing. "I- Who is Irene Adler?"

The nonchalance of his voice was maddening. "Hmm doesn't ring a bell."

He felt his hands shaking as he threw a paper to the floor, a picture of a rather striking brunette snuggled up to one Sherlock Holmes in the background of the society pages.

"Oh, the bank function..."

"You're not a banker." Watson hissed.

"Neither is she, her husband is though."

"Figures she's married. Did you sleep with her?" He asked, knowing he shouldn't have the moment he did. The one thing he didn't want to want to ask, was the one thing he desperately needed to know.

He didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

Watson's heart skipped a beat. He knew he shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter to him what conquests Holmes had. They weren't a couple. That had been made clear from day one. But the fact was that he did care. He cared about Holmes.

"I see."

"She's a charming woman... Enchanting really."

"I don't doubt it." His voice felt wooden.

Holmes seemed annoyed by this. "You knew... We agreed to let it..."

John snapped. "I know what we agreed to Holmes. You don't have to remind me. I'm not hard of hearing. I knew very well what I was getting into..."

"John."

"Don't... It's no business of mine what you do with Ms. Adler or anyone else for that matter. So long as it doesn't interfere with our work. Just try not to get killed, will you? And give that antidote to Gladstone, now!" He strode away then, using all his effort to ensure the break in his heart remained hidden as he walked out the door.

A few weeks later he met Mary. She was kind. Sweet really, a little cold but overall intelligent, smart, calculating and challenging. She was not the easiest to get close to, or figure out for that matter. Much like someone he knew. She was also charming, friendly, and easy to talk too once you'd gained her trust. With Holmes, trust was something seldom found. He was charming, not at all approachable and yet, that was part of his charm. His charms that never ceased to distract him...

He started going out with her between jobs. Walks along the park, carriage rides, occasional visit to the restaurant. He was a perfect social companions in a time when cases were simple and few and far between, nothing so complex that he was even missed. Nothing fashionable, logical, and annoyingly perfect Sherlock couldn't fix on his own. That's what he continued telling himself at least.

* * *

 _3 months later._

"You could at least be supportive. Mary is a fine woman."

"Mary," Sherlock said mockingly.

"She is to be my wife Holmes, the least you could do is take the time to meet her."

"I'd rather not waste my time."

"She is my fiancé Holmes. I will be leaving this place by the week's end whether you like it or not. Not are you going to give Mary a chance or will you continue to be difficult?"

Holmes snapped, dropping his box of tools as he starred at him, intensely, a hint of the passion that used to send shudders through his skin teasing him, before his eyes turned stony. "You're right Watson dear, I should meet the great future Mrs. Watson, after all, if nothing else than to give my congratulations. After all, it is true love, isn't it?" He grinned, the happiness in his voice seeming a sort of nail through the coffin of what they once were.

Their first dinner had been disastrous.

Mary had been kind, considerate, and polite and Holmes had been…. Holmes. Humiliating Mary to the point they'd had to leave prematurely. It had been entirely unfair. And yet, as she complained and cried to him, Watson couldn't help but wonder if it had been out of jealously. It almost made him feel… Flattered.

That thought dashed when he found heard of Holmes handcuffed to the bed, a string of kisses on his cheeks, and a key between his….

The excuses Holmes had given tired him, only spurring hate for his cowardice.

* * *

 _6 months later_

"I don't know a single damn person here!" Watson snapped. "You completely forgot about my stag party didn't you?" He accused. "Why are we here?"

"To celebrate your stag of course," Watson imagined he heard an edge of bitterness in his tone.

"Yes well… I don't need to be here. I have plenty of friends. You're the ones with no friends… Surely no mate." He said the last word quickly, regretting it immediately and telling himself to forget the lump in his throat at the look in Holmes eyes at that comment. He felt shame, being jealous of a ghost.

"Holmes I…"

"No, allow me. You are right. How selfish of me to keep you to myself on such a commemorative day… I'll leave, you can entertain yourself." He walked away almost too quickly, leaving Watson's eyes to wander to the gambling table.

"And here I had so been hoping to meet you at a more pleasant moment," said a grinning face.

"And you are?" Watson stared at the large man, finding something familiar in his face as he took the strangers hand.

"Mycroft Holmes, at your service Doctor Watson. I'm afraid my brother is much more private with his friends than I thought."

"Apparently with his brother though."

"Oh you'd be surprised… He doesn't like sharing his regrets." Watson starred unsure, trying to decipher the meaning in his words. "If you'll excuse me, I have a prior engagement, but I hope to see you at the wedding Doctor Watson. A pleasure, really." Just as quickly as he'd appeared, he left, and Watson sighed making his way to the first roulette table he saw, distracting himself from the disappointments of the evening.

* * *

 _He hated himself for being so weak..._

"One last time," Holmes whispered harshly in his ear, as he thrust him against the wall of the poorly room of the inn they'd crashed in. They had barely escaped from the assassin, and after Simza had escaped without a trace, they'd had to crash.

With only a few hours before daybreak, it seemed only a logical way to pass the time.

But it didn't make him feel any less weak.

* * *

 _The morning after_

"Do you think you'll miss it?" Holmes said suddenly, as he assisted him form the car, helping to clean him up the best he could, removing the dirt from his clothes. "Investigating."

 _Everyday_. He ignored the question. "Really Holmes, won't you try to look at least a bit presentable."

"I'm not important. I'm not even the best man remember? It's not important how bad I look."

"You could never look bad Holmes," Watson answered almost too quickly, his heart beating all too loudly in his ears as he starred into the eyes of his friend, taking his hand in his.

"What do you think?" Watson's hands shook, as his eyes slightly pleaded with the man before him. _It's not too late._

After what seemed like eternity, but was surely less, Holmes smiled shakily. "I think… Another jacket would be best."

It took every ounce of will to smile back. "Yes… Thank you," he muttered, as he let his friend, his best friend lead him inside to the first day of his new life.


End file.
